


the magnets under your skin

by cutesudon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Between Episodes, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, Slice of Life, Soulmates, Touch-Starved Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutesudon/pseuds/cutesudon
Summary: Victor Nikiforov doesn’t understand why people like touching each other so much until Yuuri stumbles into his arms.





	the magnets under your skin

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick ficlet on tumblr until I had Feelings™?  
> Thank you so much [am](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wingchestr/pseuds/wingchestr) for helping me out with this fic! <3

Unexpected physical contact unsettles Victor.

Not the ones he initiates, naturally. He prepares himself for those occasions, gets ready for the ephemerous touches that are bound to end too quickly—being touched for taking selfies, for having his outfit fixed in professional photo shoots, for shaking hands with sponsors and journalists. There’s always a lingering warmth, a feeling Victor can’t quite place once he steps back into his safe, personal bubble.

He tries not to think too much about it.

When he's not expecting, though, these physical touches sting under his skin, making him want to recoil, step back and put his walls up. It startles him—the casual brush of fingers on the palm of his hand when he reaches out for change, the sudden hand on his shoulder as someone is talking to him.

It _aches_. Victor can't make sense of why.

So, of course, it’s shocking when Victor finds himself in the arms of the drunk Japanese figure skater, who doesn’t really ask for permission to touch him when he stumbles in Victor’s direction and trips over his own feet. Victor reaches for him, not expecting the contact to be prolonged much further, let alone the body warmth and gentle pressure of the man’s fingers on his forearms as he laughs at himself and brings Victor into an embrace.

Victor holds his breath. His heart races. His skin tingles—it's all too odd. He's stiff and awkward in the drunk man's embrace, unsure of how to react. His arms are trapped under Yuuri Katsuki's arms and the drunken man gives no signals of letting go, blabbering in Japanese and rubbing his face on Victor's suit.

It doesn't ache.

There is a tingly sensation beneath his skin, different from the typical, hard sting he’s used to, like something inside of him urgently seeks that touch and warmth like a starving animal. His hands, as if they have a will of their own, reach for the man in his arms and hold him in place, wordlessly asking him to stay where he is.

He holds Yuuri, helps him get steady as he finds his own feet, and when he doesn’t let go Victor feels a wave of _relief_ wash over him, heart drumming in his ears.

Victor doesn't want to let go either. Even if the man in his arms is drunk, half-naked, grinding on his thigh while blabbering nonsense—he wants to be in his arms until he understands what this feeling is.

He doesn’t have the chance to figure it out in that opportunity, even though Victor suspects he’d need much more than a night to understand what it meant. All too soon, Yuuri’s coach is back, and Victor helps drunk Yuuri back to his room. For the first time in his life, Victor is left bereft as he lets go of someone, Yuuri’s warmth engraved on his skin like sunburn.

Ever since then nothing feels the same, as if Victor can’t wear his own skin comfortably anymore. He can’t shake it—it feels as if a slumbering creature that had been asleep for too long under his skin had been awakened by that touch, and was now starving for more. Too often he finds himself lingering a second longer than necessary after he shakes hands with a sponsor, or standing too close to someone as he watches people skate on the rink.

It doesn't satisfy him. He wants— _needs_ more, so much more, and this newly found necessity alarms him.

Before the last execution of his long program, Victor asks Yakov for a hug. His coach, despite finding it an odd request, does not ask questions and obliges, rough and stern in his own way. It’s a physical touch without any emotion, lacking the reassurance and warmth Victor sought, causing him to frown as he steps back.

Victor glides to the center of the rink to perform his program feeling that old, familiar ache under his skin.

The realization comes slowly to him, like waves on the shore, and Victor knows what that aching feeling means even though he can’t find a name for it at first. He boards a flight to Japan a couple of months later to coach the man he’s been dreaming about since that banquet, and that tingly feeling under his skin subsides a little—

Only to grow needier when he's around him. Yuuri, Victor learns, has magnets under his skin—magnets that call for him, that make his skin shiver in expectation when he stands close. Yuuri, he learns, is  _just like him_ before they met.

Yuuri flinches when Victor touches him, only to look back at him wide-eyed and wondering.

_Does Yuuri feel it too?_

Eventually, Victor comes to terms that he might have to live with that, the constant feeling of his skin calling for Yuuri's touch, a song that falls on deaf ears. And it hurts him—upsets him, and Victor works on ignoring that calling, works on suppressing that need with rational thoughts.

Until Yuuri touches him again. A hug—long and tight like the one he’d been aching for, asking Victor for reassurance before stepping on the ice for his first performance under his coaching. This time, Yuuri’s embrace doesn't stun him. This time Victor has the chance of hugging him back, and it feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders.

The tingling under his skin stops. As Yuuri steps out of their hug, Victor feels relaxed, like something has been put back in place.

And perhaps it really has, for Yuuri starts to finally relax around him, his presence growing more familiar to Victor as the days go by. Victor remains careful despite his urge to reach out and touch him, to investigate and understand what this  _feeling_ is. With time, it grows more natural—simple, thoughtless gestures that grow to be a part of their routine, quenching that nameless feeling that bubbled underneath his skin.

It’s hard to tell when those touches grow fonder. Suddenly, bumping shoulders as they walk side by side back from the rink turns into linking their arms together, just like resting an arm on Yuuri’s shoulder becomes a hug.  

Victor is very much aware this has never happened to him before, and he doesn't know what to make out of it. It amazes him, leaves him wondering one night when Yuuri rests his feet on Victor's thighs as they watch a movie and he reaches out to massage him. Yuuri relaxes, a hint of a smile playing in the corner of his lips as he focuses on the screen.

The word Victor has been looking for to define this vaguely crosses his mind, and he smiles to himself like a dork. The tingly feeling flutters through him, content.

It becomes stronger with time, and Victor learns that those magnets under Yuuri’s skin are also longing for him—his hands are there, seeking Victor when he steps out of the ice even though Yuuri doesn’t need help for balance, and yet he makes sure to touch Victor as if he  _knows_ , somehow, how much Victor enjoys that physical contact. More often than ever he finds Yuuri’s thigh timidly brushing against his as they sit for dinner, unnecessarily close to him, just like how Yuuri visibly relaxes when Victor keeps a light hand on his back as they walk back home.

Victor  _loves_ it.

He loves that Yuuri slowly becomes a very touchy person in private—when spending time together not training becomes a treasured part of their routine, and Yuuri lying on his bed petting Makkachin is a recurring presence. Yuuri leans against him as they study adversaries, nudges Victor gently when he gets a good score on his video game, touches Victor on the thigh when he gets excited about a story he’s sharing.

Victor wonders if his heart is ever going to stop leaping in his chest when Yuuri touches him.

In public, however, Yuuri is more reserved, acting slightly skittish at Victor’s first public displays of physical contact, yet growing to unconsciously beg for that palpable reassurance in a language only Victor understands. Victor feels it too—how his skin itches under the scrutinizing public gaze, and how it only goes away when he has Yuuri’s grounding presence close to him.

He needs Yuuri as much as Yuuri needs him.

And Victor learns that when he’s overwhelmed with emotion he cannot stay away from Yuuri. Even after their conflict before Yuuri’s free skate in China—because they’re human, and they’re still learning to deal with their new found emotions—all Victor wants to do once Yuuri attempts his quad flip is run into his embrace, lull that simmering sensation bubbling under his skin, hot and electrifying like he’s never felt before.

It’s an impetus stronger than himself—he’s running towards Yuuri, like he cannot fathom being away from him a second longer, his skin  _itching_ , begging for Yuuri’s presence so it can be soothed. The world narrows down to Yuuri’s smile, his arms stretched open, wordlessly inviting Victor in, and so he kisses him.

He doesn’t consciously think of it—it’s more of a natural reaction, something he’d been wanting for a while but not knowing exactly when the right opportunity would come up.

It feels just like when Victor used to bring his arm near to his old TV and the hairs on his arm stood up, the electrostatic pulling towards the screen.

It feels just like that, but with his whole body. And it doesn’t cease feeling like that even when they fall on the ice.

Somehow it’s calming, comforting like the tangible silence between them when they stargaze late at night in Hasetsu. Unexplainable like coming  _home_. And it’s so easy to forget about the world when they’re so enraptured in figuring out what  _that_ was and what it  _means_ when Victor finds himself in Yuuri’s eyes and so much else in the way Yuuri gazes at him.

His heart sings. His cheeks hurt, and Victor cannot stop smiling. Once they sit at the kiss and cry, closer than ever and Victor’s arm draped over Yuuri’s shoulder, Victor sees their image on the screen. His cheeks are pink, the smile adorning his face is something he’s never seen before, earnest and  _real_ like he had no memory of. Yuuri, fit snugly under his arm, is at peace, his cheeks slightly dusted with pink and biting back a smile that insists on blooming as he waits for his score.

It’s almost like they’re completely different people. Different—changed, in a way, but still the same. Brighter, lighter, a rekindled flame that sheds light on a newly opened path.

That night is the first night they share a bed —giggling, kissing, with their hands all over each other and almost unable to sleep from the excitement they share. That night, when they finally fall asleep, Victor has the most peaceful sleep he’s had in a while, finding a comfort impossible to translate into words as he turns to the side to find Yuuri, asleep right next to him.

The next morning, Victor wakes up to Yuuri’s feather-light touch on his cheek and he thinks he’s dreaming. He’s there, gently caressing Victor’s face in the dimly lit room, and Victor closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation.

Yuuri’s hands are delicate, warm and gentle and speaking of reverence as he traces the shape of Victor’s eyebrow, committing the smallest details to memory. Victor wants to turn on the lights, draw back the curtains without getting out of their bed so he can gaze at Yuuri in that morning intimacy, to see how he looks like as he learns Victor’s face, but that involves breaking Yuuri’s contact and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

Victor reaches out a timid hand to mirror Yuuri’s leisurely touches. First, he tours the softness of Yuuri’s cheeks—marvels at how perfect they must be for kissing, and Victor saves that idea for later—then the bridge of his nose, his cupid’s bow and the shape of Yuuri’s lips.

He cannot stop thinking about how this is going to become a part of his life now.

Ultimately, that desperate need to  _touch_ subsides, growing into less of a frenetic need of holding and being held and more of a habit, something that comes naturally to them like thinking, breathing. It’s keeping a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder as they talk to someone because it feels  _good_ , it’s holding hands for no reason other than having an excuse to brush the pad of their thumbs on the back of each other’s hands—touching and caressing, each gesture becomes fonder than the previous one. There is consistency, a silent promise of permanence that appeases Victor, makes him feel like glowing.

In the silence of a night where Yuuri sneaks into his bedroom and shares his bed, his arm a grounding weight draped on Victor’s chest, Victor hopes he never feels his skin ache again—and, in case he does, that Yuuri is there to comfort him.

But life has an odd way of playing with things, and they’re eventually forced apart by circumstance—when Yuuri needs his support the most, when they’re in Victor’s homeland. And while it’s just for a couple of days and Yuuri—selfless, a man with a heart of gold—promises he’s going to be fine… It hurts Victor. It pains him to leave, and he learns it hurts him to be away from Yuuri.

The worry-packed couple of days they spend apart are a confusing haze until Victor takes the train to the airport with a healthy Makkachin by his side. His skin feels too tight—cold, sensible—and Victor is _exhausted_ like he has never been before. His body is sore as if he had spent too much time practicing jumps, his eyes sting from the lack of sleep, and despite having talked to Yuuri briefly before he boarded his flight Victor feels  _lonely_.

When he spots Yuuri walking on the other side of the glass, his heart stops. Something unexplainable happens—as if somehow, only through their gazes, they could let across thoughts, feelings and emotions that touch deep within their souls, and, much like back in Beijing, Victor starts running.

Yuuri runs too, not once tearing his gaze away from Victor’s, bolting towards the exit as they try to understand what that feeling is, like stars in collision course attracted by each other’s gravitational field.  

Victor opens his arms and Yuuri jumps into his hug, balling his fists on the fabric of Victor’s coat.

Yuuri makes him feel safe with his arms wrapped around him.

Soon, Yuuri introduces a different feeling to Victor. It takes him by surprise, a completely unexpected reaction that he had always secretly wished for but never believed it would actually become true.

A golden ring. Heavy—in weight and meaning, a physical representation of the bond they share, a wordless poem of a future together. It feels cold at first, charged with an unspeakable energy as Yuuri slides it up his finger, his hands so gentle and  _sure_ that Victor’s entire universe narrows down to this moment. Then, Victor repeats the gesture on Yuuri, and his hands are cold and shaking as he holds Yuuri’s hand and holds his breath as he puts the ring on his finger.

He finds himself touching it as the night passes by, trying to get used to the novelty and a part of him is wishing he never will—he hopes he will always be conscious of the golden band’s weight around his finger, just as he’s conscious of Yuuri’s tender, loving gaze when he’s not looking. It’s Yuuri’s touch made eternal, a part of Yuuri that is always on him.

Victor knows he won’t remove his ring for anything in this world.

The feeling of their ring around his finger is always present in his mind, just like his love for Yuuri and the long way they’ve come together. More often than not, Victor catches himself gazing lovingly at his ring when Yuuri is not present, or rolling it around his finger with a coy smile on his lips. It’s a comforting part of their routine—he kisses Yuuri and his ring, as if charging it with his love and care whenever they have to spend a day apart—just like embracing Yuuri is his second nature at this point.

Yuuri moves in with him in Saint Petersburg—they  _live_ together,  _train_ together,  _sleep_ together, and on their breaks go to places around town where Victor used to only go by himself. It’s life-changing—to have someone to share his life with, the smallest details and habits of his life in Russia—and Victor acknowledges something that he had only slowly becoming aware of for the past few months.

He realizes it as he wakes up one morning, with Yuuri softly snoring next to him, hugging his pillow and fast asleep. Victor turns around to hug him, bring him close like it’s become their habit, tucking his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder for some more blissful minutes of sleep relishing his fiancé’s warmth. His bleary eyes catch the infallible glint of his golden ring in the pale morning light creeping through the shades as he makes himself comfortable, pressing his body against Yuuri’s warm frame.

Sudden touches don’t startle him anymore now that he’s learned the meaning of affection—giving and receiving, instead of pretending it’s something that comes naturally to him. And he’s always seeking it—Yakov taps his shoulder and Victor turns around and smiles, instead of freezing and tensing up, and hugging fans for pictures comes as naturally as smiling from his heart now that he has Yuuri’s love in his life.

He smiles, scooting closer to Yuuri, his heart happy and content with all love surrounding him now. Planting a gentle kiss on the crook of his fiancé’s neck, Victor entwines his fingers with his, and Yuuri gently brushes the pad of his thumb on the back of Victor’s hand as he melts into his embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr (vityanikiforova)](http://vityanikiforova.tumblr.com) and [twitter (cutesudon)](http://twitter.com/cutesudon) for more soft boys.


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